Good to You
by Damelia Evenshire
Summary: Sherlock Holmes sang as though every note was her first and would be her very last, sounding perfectly in control of her voice but at the same time so desperate to be heard.


**Please accept this drabble as an apology for the fact that a new chapter in What About the Shrimp? Will not be due for some time. **

* * *

Broken glass littered the floor, making every step a hazard. Sherlock climbed the stairs slowly, her black heels made almost no sound against the silence. Then, John's skilled fingers began to stroke the piano's keys.

_"Everyone's around, no words are coming out, and I can't find my breath, can we just say the rest with no sound?"_

John's soft voice sang quietly. He was wearing a black shirt with a red tie, playing the piano with one hand while resting his arm over the piano, hand wrapped around a glass and the smell of a cigarette filling the room.

_"And I'm not prepared, sorry is never there when you, need it."_

He still hadn't noticed her, so she walked farther in to the room, carefully avoiding the debris.

_"And I do, I want you to know I think that you'd be good to me, and I'd be so good to you!"_

She sang along quietly, not enough to be heard. But that was alright – she'd come to observe, hadn't she?

Her memory brought her back to earlier that evening.

* * *

_"I thought I saw a sign, somewhere between the lines. But maybe it's me; maybe I only see what I want."_ Sherlock sang in to the silver microphone. Behind the bar, John was looking at her in a mixture of envy and fascination.

_"And I still have your letter, just got caught between someone I just invented. Who I really am and who, I've become!"_

Sherlock Holmes sang as though every note was her first and would be her very last, sounding perfectly in control of her voice but at the same time so desperate to be heard. She sounded like a girl screaming at the top of her lungs in a crowded room without being heard and John couldn't help but be impressed by this strange singer. The pair had yet to meet, but John was working up the courage to go up to her. Maybe after this song. Definitely after this song.

The singer was wearing a long red dress with thin straps and long black gloves. Most striking, though, were her deep red cupid bow lips, lined in a slightly darker shade. Her black curls were elegantly pulled away from her face, draped evenly around her shoulders and back.

The song, John knew, was originally a duet, but she sang the male part as well as the female. John didn't even pretend he wasn't humming along to the second part of the song. He did, however, try to ignore how much he wanted to share the stage with the lonely looking girl.

_"And I do, I want you to know I think that you'd be good to me, and I'd be so good to you!"_

Three men, two wearing rather cheesy hats, walked in to the bar. Her gaze shifted to size them up and after a long moment of staring, she kept singing, a smile gracing her pale face. One, clearly their leader, shot John a piercing look. He gave a slight nod and looked away. He caught the leader shaking his head in disapproval at Sherlock. He stalked towards the stage and, in an Irish lilt, demanded that she get off the stage now.

With a daring look in her eyes, she nodded a firm 'no' and in a particularly sassy move, her slim hand grabbed the microphone.

_"Whoa, whoa! Whooooa!"_

If John thought she had been impressive before, now she was downright incredible and she poured her entire heart in to the long notes. It was because she knew she didn't have long, and she felt a deep, primal need to make an impression upon a room of people who didn't care.

One of them jumped up to the stage, and John thought he recognised him as Colonel Sebastian Moran, a regular. He grabbed her arm to pull her off the stage, but she pushed him away.

_"Whoa!"_

She got in a good few notes before he firmly yanked her away, the microphone falling to the stage's light wooden floor with a loud clang and finally claiming people's attention. She couldn't help but feel that there was a bitter irony in the way that her silence was more noticeable than singing at the top of her lungs.

He pulled Sherlock through the tables and she gave John a pleading look and she was unceremoniously dragged outside. He stared after her, torn, but was yanked out of his thoughts when Moran yanked his tie. "You starin' at boss' girl?" he leered. He broke a bottle and waved it threateningly over John's head. The bartender licked his lips anxiously, giving the broken bottle a long look, weighing his options and cursing the existence of ties.

Moran was pulled away by two of the waiters, friends of John, and then everything went to hell.

Without warning or provocation, he was thrown on to a table and a woman tentatively handed him an empty wine bottle. He smashed it over the man's head and delivered a quick punch. The people sitting at tables ran out the doors, glasses clinking and falling as they ran for the hills.

* * *

_ "And now I do want you to know I'll hold you up, above everyone. And I do, I want you to know that I think, you'd be good to me, and I'd be so good to you."_

Sherlock and John's voices sang at the same time. He looked up from the piano, finally noticing her presence.

_"I...would."_ They shared a brief but meaningful look.

"And now I do want you to know I'll hold you up, above everyone. And I do, I want you to know I think, you'd be good to me, and I'd be so good to you."

_"I'd be good to you."_

She still sang as though the next note might be the very last to leave her lips.

_"I'd be good to you."_

_"I'd be good to you."_ He put in halfway through, fingers dancing on the piano.

_"Oh, I'd be __**so**__ good to you." _

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**I'd appreciate your thoughts. **

**xx, Dami**


End file.
